Unsurprisingly, Nightmares

I wish there was something I could do about this. If it’s because of my meds, then I’m just going to have to live with it, but what if it’s not?

What if it’s fixable?

It used to be just a couple of times a week. Lately, it’s every night. And it’s not all just about my mother, anymore, though she features prominently.

It’s no wonder I’m always tired. I have nightmares. I grind and clench my teeth. I apparently kick and hit. I moan and scream. I snore.

Why can’t I sleep normally? Why am I so combative? I’m a nice person. No one deserves to get their ass kicked in bed. Although often enough, I’m not hurting anyone, anymore, because I’m already down here.

It’s not a great situation.

I tried to have a sleep study done a few years ago, but my insurance wouldn’t cover it, and I never followed up with them as to why. I suspect it was because they wanted me to come into the clinic to observe my nightmares and ninja-like behaviors, rather than do one of those home tests. But I could’ve explained to Anthem that I was having the nightmares, and I never did.

That was a mistake.

I forgot one. I curse, too. Loudly. Colorfully. And Desmond used to sleep in our room (because, I think, he has anxieties of his own, unfortunately).

I think there are much worse things you can do than swear in front of your child, but I still try not to. I’m certainly not dropping casual F-bombs left and right. Not, at least, in my waking hours. The ones in my sleep, I honestly can’t help. I wish I could. It pains me to think of how I must have scared him.

Anyway, I hate to end on such a sour note, but I’m afraid I have to. It’s time to go to work. I hope today is good. I hope I get a lot of steps and my hands don’t hurt. I hope I enjoy my coworkers. I usually do. I hope they enjoy me.

Have a good day, my fine readers. Stay warm. Stay cool. Thanks for reading.